


The Herald and Haven

by Miss_Aila



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fen'an'ina Lavellan, Fetch Quest, Friendship, Gen, Haven (Dragon Age), The Anchor (Dragon Age), Varric Tethras' Chest Hair, light combat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-05 03:25:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13379115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Aila/pseuds/Miss_Aila
Summary: Fen'an'ina wanders around Haven, trying to grow accustomed to her new title and the Inquisition





	The Herald and Haven

No one spoke to Fen'an’ina as she walked around Haven.

Snow crunched under her stiff leather boots, a thin layer that always covered the ground no matter how much the wind tried to carry it away. Flakes billowed around her long coat whose weight was still unfamiliar; Fena actually liked the cold, but the Frostbacks had much lower temperatures year round than the Free Marches, forcing her to wear more layers than she was used to. Sometimes she still wore just her old scarf out of sheer stubbornness, though she could only do that for short trips outside her cabin. It caught her braid and pulled a few strands loose, as if hoping her hair would join the snow it shared its color with. Walking along the inside edge of the wooden walls surrounding the encampment, the various humans she passed all buzzed with activity. The tavern was spilling warmth and music, but she knew that as soon as she walked in it would go quiet, so she walked on. She heard the whispers, but rather than the usual 'knife-ear' and 'rabbit' comments, the words "Herald of Andraste" and “Maker’s chosen” came up far more often. It was unsettling more than anything, but quite frankly Fena didn’t know what to make of all the shems and their plans for the mark on her hand. She tried denying that this power came from their 'Maker', but since she could not remember what really happened her words fell on deaf ears.

Small, flat, deaf ears.

The boots pinched her toes, and the coat smelled of horses and fires; Fena could hardly complain about the clothing she had been gifted, but she did find it unpleasant that Ambassador Montilyet insisted on her wearing human footwear. _“Appearances are important, Herald”_ , she had said, but Fena didn’t see the point. Putting on shoes and a coat did not make her any less of a _knife ear_ to these people, it just made them a little more comfortable seeing her around Haven; the weaving white _vallaslin_ that contrasted sharply with her bronze skin, however, could not be disguised. Ignoring her Dalish features, her staff usually canceled out any benefits the fashion choices provided by resting blatantly on her back. An elf was one thing, but a mage as the Herald? No explanation could overcome both hurdles, which is why the people in charge were sending her to find some woman named Mother Giselle.

Outside the gate, the blacksmith was creating all kinds of heat from the forge; Fena decided it was as good a time as any to meet him. Harritt was gruff, but she got the impression he was like that with everyone. His mustache twitched back and forth as he told her how to maintain the set of armor she would be wearing to the Hinterlands, and he grunted in what was probably satisfaction when she made a point to thank him for his help. She wanted to linger in the heavy warmth covering the area, but the loud hammering around her was ringing in her ears, so she headed back into the compound. The Commander waved to her from the training grounds as she passed, but Fena saw the Seeker near him and thought better of walking that way. Their interactions were still a little tense despite coming pretty far from the day she was arrested, so why force the awkward conversation?

She passed the small path to her own cabin but didn’t stop inside, instead walking up the steps towards the chantry overlooking the rest of the village. The quartermaster, Threnn, stood outside her tent discussing supply runs with other members. Fena briefly considered going inside the chantry to grab another book to read, but she had promised Josephine and Leliana that she would familiarize herself with Haven and at the very least the higher-ranking members of the Inquisition. Her footsteps continued past the large wooden doors, down a smaller path to another grouping of cabins. One was unoccupied for the time being, but another housed Adan, the man who had taken care of Fena while she was unconscious for the days between the explosion at the Conclave and her re-awakening in the cell. While technically he was the official apothecary for the Inquisition, he explained in a terse tone that he would rather be experimenting with potions than healing people, as he thinks of himself as more of an alchemist. A mixture of emotions passed through her, but ultimately she was able to keep a straight face while he complained at the lack of resources available and his mentor’s death at the Conclave. He didn’t even seem to mourn the loss of his mentor specifically, but rather the notes that had been left behind somewhere nearby that he could use to make headway into his research.

“If only I had them, I could start making some good lyrium potions. Master Teigan had been on the verge of a breakthrough.” This caught Fena’s attention, ears twitching ever so slightly and eyes re-focusing on Adan. “You could do some real damage out there to those demons if I could finish his work.”

“I can look for them, if you would like. As thanks for taking care of me.”

* * *

 

As it turned out, the notes weren’t very far away. A small cabin just outside the village was abandoned, and Fena took her time picking all the elfroot she spotted while walking to it before finding what she needed inside. In no hurry to go back inside the village, she wandered the small wooded area beside the lake. Haven was still within earshot, and she found peace looking for elfroot stalks in the snow. The lake nearby was frozen on top, though probably not enough to walk on. The smell of pine trees filled the air; if she closed her eyes she could almost pretend she was back in the Marches, in the mountains where Clan Sabrae had lived. She had been able to visit them a few times, years ago; Keeper Marethari had been so kind, even enduring Fena’s endless questions about Warden Mahariel. Lost in thought, her small sack was filled in no time. The nagging voice in her head said to get Adan his notes sooner rather than later, so she turned to go back.

And almost missed the wolf creeping down the slope towards her.

In a second the sack was on the ground and Fena had her staff in hand, but it was the same stock staff she had found on her way to the rift, not nearly as good as her old one. Worse still, the mark on her hand flared with erratic sparks, sending pinpricks of pain up her arm. The wolf sensed her vulnerability and jumped. Fena threw her body to the side and rolled into a crouch, just managing to cast a barrier on herself, but the wolf had good reflexes and was already running at her again. This time when it jumped she blocked with her staff, using its momentum to throw it off into a snowbank. She gathered the cold into her staff, concentrated it, and sent bolt after bolt into the wolf. The familiar rhythm of her forms returned naturally, and she rotated her torso and staff to finish off the wolf with a final spray of ice, when her mark lit up again, interrupting her spell. The wolf tried to make a final lunge in her moment of weakness, but Fena yelled out and flipped the staff around to stab it in the chest, killing it.

Regaining her breath took a minute, so Fena cleaned her staff and renewed her barrier. Better not to get caught off guard again. The sack of elfroot hadn’t been crushed in her scuffle, but some of the stalks had fallen out; she gathered them again and tied it shut. After checking for injury and re-securing her staff, the walk back to Haven was brisk and free of further encounters. If Adan noticed her less-than-pristine appearance he didn’t comment, but he warmed up when she presented both the notes and the supply of elfroot. Their parting was on a positive note, with a promise of plenty of lyrium and health potions for her trip to the Hinterlands.

Following that meeting, Fena remained expressionless as she interacted with the last few members of the Inquisition Leliana had said she should meet. It was humans everywhere she looked; a human Inquisition to follow their human religion, and yet an elf was being lifted as their prophet. An oppressing feeling of isolation crept up on her, but it was different from when she was in Clan Lavellan. With her clan, the incident from her past segregated her from the others and made her ‘less’ in their eyes. Here, everyone seemed to have trouble reconciling their ideas of the Dalish with her new status as Herald, so she was both revered and avoided at the same time. She hadn’t met any city elves, but maybe they would like her; weren’t most city elves Andrastian? She thought over the non-human members of the fledgling organization that she knew of: an apostate elf who had all kinds of rare and possibly forbidden knowledge, only the Creators know why he hasn’t run, and a witty dwarf with an impressive crossbow and a best-selling novel about his time with the Champion of Kirkwall. The Inquisition was shaping up to be the strangest organization she had ever heard of, and Fena could not help but crack a small smile, the corner of her mouth quirking ever so slightly, at the irony of its lack of diversity so far.

“I think that’s the first real expression I’ve seen from you, Herald.”

Speaking of witty dwarves; Fena hadn’t noticed whose campfire she was approaching. She smoothed her features again, not quite sure how to interact with Varric. She did note with some amusement that he left his tunic open to the air, despite the mountain chill, which explained his proximity to the fire. An impressive amount of chest hair (was it impressive? She hadn’t seen much chest hair in her life) was on display, catching stray snowflakes with every gust of wind. His crossbow, Bianca, sat nearby on a bench; a modern marvel of metal and wood, she couldn’t even begin to figure out how it was made.

“I’m sure you are mistaken, Ser Tethras.” She approached warily, but determined to get to know him better. They would be leaving for the Hinterlands soon, so it was better to try to be on good terms with at least one person in her traveling party. And a dwarf had better chances than a shemlen right now, though that was in part due to a lack of experience with them. She hadn’t known any dwarves in Wycome.

“It’s Varric, and I’m not mistaken, though I don’t blame you for being sour with all of the ‘Herald’ this and ‘Andraste’ that.” He takes a moment to look around, and after he seemed satisfied he faces her. “So, now that Cassandra’s out of earshot, are you holding up alright?” Fena paused, rubbing her hands together. No one had actually asked her that yet. “I mean, you go from being the most wanted criminal in Thedas to joining the armies of the faithful,” he continues, “Most people would have spread that out over more than one day.” At that she had to smile again, a proper one this time, though she tried not to. He had such a way of putting her situation in words that made her realize how ridiculous the whole thing was.

“To be honest, I can hardly keep up,” she admitted. He nodded, tilting his head while thoughtfully rubbing his chin, the stubble making a scratching noise against his leather gloves. Fena pulled her braid loose and began weaving the sections together again, directing it to the right and over her shoulder as she waited for Varric to continue his thoughts. It was almost like glimpsing the inside of his mind as he put their current state in a new frame of reference.

“I don’t blame you. For days now, we’ve been staring at the Breach, watching demons and Maker-knows-what fall out of it. ‘Bad for morale’ would be an understatement; I still can’t believe anyone was in there and lived.” His honesty startled Fena. It sounded like he’d rather be anywhere but here in Haven right now. Her curiosity got the better of her.

“If it was that bad, why did you stay? Cassandra said you were free to go, and it’s clear that you don’t want to be within a stone’s throw of her.”

“I like to think I’m as selfish and irresponsible as the next guy, but this…” His expression softened, drooping as he recalled the events of the Conclave just days ago. “Thousands of people died on that mountain. I was almost one of them. And now there’s a hole in the sky; I can’t walk away and just leave that to sort itself out.” The fire popped and crackled as silence fell between them; Fena would have certainly fled if she hadn’t been directly involved, yet Varric chose to stay on his own. She realized that she may have taken Varric at face value to be far more shallow than what he was saying now, and she felt herself relaxing for probably the first time since she woke up in those chains. She cleared her throat uncomfortably, the mark glowing a little brighter as she turned her gaze to the Breach.

“I’m still not sure I believe that any of this is really happening,” she murmured. “No one was even supposed to know I was there; just a silent observer, who would return to the Marches when the results became clear… whatever they may have been.”

“If this is all just the Maker winding up, I hope there’s a damn good punch line coming. You might want to consider running at the first opportunity.” Fena’s eyebrows rose at the suggestion, implying she had a choice in belonging to the Inquisition at all. “I’ve written enough tragedies to recognize where this is going. Heroes are everywhere, I’ve seen that. But the hole in the sky? That’s beyond heroes. We’re going to need a miracle.”

Fena’s lips pursed in thought, brow furrowing slightly and forming creases in the intertwined lines on her forehead. “And what miracle could the Herald of Andraste hope to produce with a mark that seems just as likely to kill its owner as it is to solve all our problems?”

Varric shrugged, a lopsided grin and a raised eyebrow dissipating the heavy tone of the conversation. “Beats the hell out of me, Snowflake. Let’s just take this one problem at a time, shall we?”

That made her tilt her head in wonder. “Snowflake?” She folded her arms and leveled her best questioning look at him. Varric shrugged again carelessly, already back to stirring up the fire.

“Nicknames are kind of my thing, and besides the less-than-subtle link between the name and your brand of magic, it fits you quite nicely if I may say so.” Fena waited for him to elaborate further but he became quiet, a teasing smile and a twinkle in his eye meant that was all she was getting today. She finally returned his smile with another small one of her own, the conversation ending on a light note. She wandered on with a parting wave, pondering the meaning behind her new nickname; she ran a hand through her hair to loosen the braid and focused on her feet as she walked, brown boots on brown dirt.

Perhaps Haven wouldn’t be so lonely after all.


End file.
